


Drowning in Your Sorrow

by coolknives



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Azran Legacy Spoilers, Canon/Original character, Identity Issues, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, i wrote this on an impulse at night and i feel like i have to apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolknives/pseuds/coolknives
Summary: When Desmond can't go on by himself, will anyone be there for him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well folks. it is i, your hyperfocused lad nives with their weird ship again. this fic branches from [a long way to go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8208517/chapters/18808087), chapter 3, and is basically "what if desmond ended up declining vincent's offer and they got apart for a while?"  
> reading a long way to go before reading this would be cool, but it's not super required, however you might not understand some things related to vincent. for those who haven't read that fic, it's post azran legacy (and unwound future). Raymond is dead of age, as terrible as i feel for doing that to him…  
> this is also the first work i'm writing by myself and posting! uhh not the best way to introduce myself is it
> 
> i've been feeling. bad lately. this fic is me venting that kinda went too far. oopsie. not gonna lie, this one is pretty personal to me despite being such a cheesy angst with a good end story  
> warnings for suicide, suicidal thoughts, drowning, probably medically incorrect stuff which i apologize for, i really tried my best to research. not entirely sure if i can write more chapters for this, but i will try!
> 
> shoutout to ProfInkwell (professorinkwell on tumblr) for proofreading! i swear one day i'll post a fic that's not shippy \ °-°/

The day looked rather gloomy – a thick layer of both clouds and smog overcasting the sun, making the streets of the city look utterly dull… But Vincent managed to find beauty in such weather. It felt like it could start raining any moment, so he decided to take his long umbrella along for a small walk.

He bought a small cup of coffee and somehow, lost in his own thoughts, walked down to the riverside. Standing right in front of the small fence that was guarding people from the river itself, Vincent looked down. The river looked deep, its flow slow, but strong, the dark water reflecting the dark clouds and another side of the shore, as well as a small boat floating near the pear, and the bridge… Vincent's eyes went to the bridge, when he noticed something – a person. They were standing there on the bridge, just like Vincent, and something felt strangely familiar about them… Was it someone Vincent happened to know?

Quite bored of everything, Vincent decided to watch this familiar person, still wondering why they caught his interest so much. The person seemed to be walking back and forth on one spot of the bridge, then looking down at the water, then walking again… The strange behaviour only boosted Vincent's interest, along with the worry, before the person did something Vincent couldn't expect at all… Suddenly, they climbed over the fence between the bridge and the river and stood there, seemingly about to jump into the dark river. Usually, Vincent wouldn't react to it at all, aside from making a snarky remark in his mind – something like "me too" – but this time his mind urged him to run and help. The person seemed to be reluctant about jumping, so Vincent knew he had some time to make it to the bridge.

As the person got closer, Vincent started to recognize them… Or him, rather. Vincent's panicking mind couldn't remember the details, but it was a scientist he had met at that science conference a month ago – Desmond Sycamore; they spent some time together and promised to reconnect, but none of them managed to reach out, so Vincent considered their friendship dead… It didn't matter now, though – the man needed help. And _that_  must've been exactly the reason he never called back. The professor was too ill, too suicidal to reach out…

"… Professor Sycamore!" Vincent shouted, panting from all the running. As soon as the familiar voice reached the other man, it made him shudder.

'Suicidal' was one word to describe Desmond's state. He had lost everything – his entire family, his will to live, almost his reputation – all because of the Azran and his own self, but what happened a month ago at a science conference was the breaking point. He let go of his last chance of happiness, making it walk away, then out of London and his sight… And recently, he'd lost his last motivation to stay alive, all because of his own recklessness. Desmond was sick of his own breath, sick of his entire existence… He didn't even know who he was – Desmond? Jean? Who were those two people if not just costumes for somebody who could't understand who he was…?

And now, he was here, in this town in the middle of nowhere, staring down right at the face of death itself – so welcoming, but so terrifying at the same time. Drowning himself probably wasn't the best choice, Desmond reasoned, but there was no going back now. Just jump and wait a little bit… It might be painful, but what wasn't painful in his miserable life?

Then, the voice reached his ears – the familiar, cozy voice, the voice that comforted him a month ago, the voice that sounded so much like home… Vincent.

"Doctor Hable, what are you doing here…?!" Desmond shouted with an unusual shriek in his voice, tears beading in his eyes. Vincent shoudn't be seeing this…!

"No time for that… Please, come here!" Vincent ran to the fence where Desmond was standing and extended his hands to hold him, but…

"I'm sorry, Vincent…"

Too late. It was too late – with a quick, smooth movement Desmond just relaxed and let himself fall off the bridge, extending his hand towards Vincent as a reflex. He wanted to connect, but it was too late… The bridge wasn't too tall, so the sound of the man hitting the water surface followed soon.

Pain… Nothing but pure emotional agony was surging through Desmond as he was slowly sinking deeper and deeper, still not wanting to attempt to take a breath. He made Vincent see this… Even while dying, Desmond managed to hurt someone. How pathetic. He let his eyes close and his consciousness drift away, right before a presence made his eyes fly open. Olivia, his wife… Right in front of him.

"Why, Des…?" The woman asked, her face filled with nothing but disappointment.

"Why, daddy?!" A girl appeared behind Olivia – his daughter, Anne-Marie.

"Why, Master?" The old, already dead butler Raymond appeared in front of the other two.

Desmond tried to speak, but ended up making a gurgling sound and felt his lungs heave… They were slowly filling with water; it choked him, pressed on his chest so hard, he felt like his heart was about to explode. Even now, when he was so close to death, he was being blamed for it – that would be a proper ending for his life. Desmond's vision slowly got dark, and his body went limp… He felt his heart beating rapidly, his body pleading for oxygen, and as much as Desmond wanted to panic, to swim to the surface, to move in any way… he couldn't. Not anymore.

* * *

 

Shaking, Vincent silently watched Desmond fall, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he remembered… Remembered everything, every moment spent with Desmond – they all were nothing but pleasing, just his presence comforting, and the promise they'd made…

"I'll see you soon, Vincent… When I'm ready," – the man's voice rang in Vincent's mind so vividly it made him let out a low, loud sob. He had to come up with a way to save Desmond, _he had to_! Desmond wasn't dead yet, was he…? Was he?!

Running down the bridge, Vincent remembered the boat he'd noticed during his stroll before everything happened. This was the only way… Vincent had to jump into the water and swim himself, despite his fear of it, despite, him being sure that he can't swim. Calling for help wasn't an option – it was way too late for that, and no one was around to see the scene, even… Finally evening out his breath, Vincent gazed at the boat with determination, his right hand clutched in a white knuckle. He approached it quickly and turned the engine on with no problems, but then, he realized… Where could Desmond be? The river was rather slow, so he couldn't get too far, if only Vincent hadn't lost the track of time at this point… His eyes running from one side of the river to another, Vincent tried to find anything out of ordinary. He carefully looked through every inch of the calm, dark water surface of the river, and at first didn't notice anything. He started to move the boat slowly as he looked now, but it only made everything harder, the boat only making extra waves. Pleading for a sign of life from underwater, Vincent thought about Desmond… Alone, cold, breathless and sure that no one will ever save him. No matter how hard Vincent tried to silence his panic and empathy, he burst into tears again… Why?!

But Vincent recovered from emotions hitting him shortly, and, looking up, finally noticed it – rather large bubbles floating on the surface… It must be Desmond, no mistake! Without thinking anything through, Vincent jumped off the boat after taking a deep breath. He knew he would usually panic underwater, but now his mind was focused on saving Desmond entirely. Sharp pain surged through Vincent's left shoulder, and he stopped feeling his left mechanical hand, his left artificial eye broke entirely, but he didn't care; it all could be fixed later, _it did not matter_.

After swimming down for about ten seconds, Vincent started to doubt his decision. What if these bubbles being a sign of life was a stretch, a leap of faith his mind had to make…? The entire situation seemed like a big leap of faith anyway. Frantically looking around Vincent finally saw it… Desmond's glasses on the bottom of the river. Quickly picking them up, Vincent realized that he needed air himself, so he started swimming further away from the boat in panic, the last of his breath leaving his nostrils… He didn't have much time. He realized that he lost his own glasses, making his own vision even worse, but even despite that…

There was Desmond, floating right above Vincent. He was already unconscious, but his hand was still reaching out as a silent call for help… Barely stopping himself from taking a breath, Vincent quickly grabbed the man as firmly as he could by locking his broken hand in the needed position and swam up, despite his own vision already darkening from the lack of oxygen.

* * *

 

After Vincent made it to the shore, he spent at least a minute coughing out water before remembering about Desmond. His glasses still were near him, on the shore… Desmond looked deeply unconscious, and… unbreathing. Panic flushing Vincent's mind again, he tried to measure the other man's pulse – first on his arm, then on his neck… He was still alive. Vincent was frantically searching for a way to wake him up, to make him cough all the water out… All he remembered was mouth-to-mouth respiration. Despite how much Vincent liked the man, kissing was the last thing that was on his mind. Quickly, he opened Desmond's mouth and pressed his own lips against the man's… They felt so cold, even though soft – Vincent couldn't let him die. A couple of absolutely painful, anxiety-filled minutes, and…

Desmond opened his eyes. They flew open, instantly making him sit up in a jumping, spastic motion, a good measure of water coming out of his mouth as he moaned in agony. He tried to take a breath, but it felt too painful, it was way too hard… This is when Vincent finally figured to call an ambulance, which he did quickly – gladly, his phone was still in a working condition. Desmond shortly lost his consciousness again, but he was at least taking short breaths. Almost there. Vincent managed to slowly drag him closer to himself, using just his one hand, and pulled him into a hold… Never had he held someone so tightly and carefully at the same time. Letting his tears flow, Vincent rubbed Desmond's back, now noticing how long his hair actually were… He was beautiful. And he would be so much more beautiful if he survived this.

"… Live, Desmond… Please, live…! I…"

Vincent whispered to Desmond's unconscious body, his own lips shaking as he said the words. Suddenly, he felt his body weakening… He collapsed, still holding Desmond closely. The last thing he could hear was the sound of sirens, quickly approaching.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While having a heavy identity crisis, Desmond gets visited by a certain someone he neither expected nor wanted to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays lmao  
> warnings for depictions of identity issues, suicidal thoughts and just overall angsty negativity this is in general vent writing i'm sorry  
> the next chapter Might Be the last one, i'm not planning to let this one last long. still not sure how it will end but i'll figure it out  
> incase you're wondering how bronev got here and knew about everything will be explained later
> 
> overall this fic is pretty experimental for me so i'm sorry if it's not too enjoyable /rolls away/

A heartbeat, steady breaths one after another; a faint memory of Vincent's light orange curly hair swirling underwater, of his terrified, sad eyes… He was alive. Saved. He opened his eyes slowly, the faint light on the ceiling still too bright for him – his head was splitting. Then, he instinctively sat up and starting coughing, drawing a nurse's attention. They quickly approached the bed and looked at him.

"Mister Sycamore, how are you feeling? The doctors aren't here anymore today, but they'll look at you tomor-"

"Who is ' _Sycamore_ '…?" The man mumbled with a steady, monotonous voice, interrupting the nurse. "Who is… ' _Descole_ '?"

"… Please, don't worry. You have an appointment with our therapist later as well, she's a professional, she will help you," said the nurse in response, trying to keep a friendly smile on their face. "For now, you have a visitor. Should I let them in?"

A visitor? Who would ever want to see this pathetic broken husk of a man? Why would someone save him, even? He didn't know; he didn't know anything anymore, his mind was nothing but a jumbled mess of self-loathing thoughts, painful memories, and guilt. He deliberately ignored the part about the therapist – there was no help for him, no matter how much of a professional they were. Unable to answer the nurse's question, the man lied down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, unwanted tears beading in his eyes.

"… I'm letting them in." The nurse reasoned, thinking that a company could make him feel better at least temporarily, and opened the door.

The man's eyes widened instantly, his heart in his throat, and he started coughing violently, not even wanting to look at the person standing right behind the door… An old man with hair looking like a lion's mane, a man with eyes so similar to what he saw every day in the mirror – no one else but Leon Bronev himself.

"… Did you come here to end my pain?" Finally getting over the shock and stopping coughing, the broken man looked up. "If not… Do us both a favour and get lost." He couldn't even question how Bronev got out of the prison so soon… It wasn't his business anymore.

"Descole, my boy," Bronev shook his head and sat down on the chair near the other man's bed. "What you did yesterday; do you think it's the only way out?"

"Don't call me _that_!" Descole snarled, provoking yet another coughing fit. "How can _you_ … know what's better… for me?" He coughed out, then took a pause to get the fit over with. "… Why would you even visit me here?"

"Leave all these questions," Bronev muttered, looking away and rubbing his beard nervously. This behaviour seemed so unusual for him, a lot softer than Descole remembered… Did spending some time behind the bars actually make a change? "You probably won't believe me, but I'm not here to hurt you."

"You… You do realize that just your presence is _torturing_ me already, right?!" The other man stared right into Bronev's face, eyes unconsciously filling with tears and his voice growing more and more whimpering, weak… miserable. "Yes… Yes, it _is_ the only way out. And even that plan of mine got ruined…" He shook his head – he must be looking ridiculously pathetic to Bronev now, despite how much he wanted to just hit the older man in the face, to jump on him and beat him up, but… he knew he was way too weak even to express his anger properly, crying instead of getting aggressive.

"… Listen," Bronev stared back, frowning, and his voice grew a lot more commanding, making Descole freeze in fear, still aware of how helpless he was at the moment. "I'm here because I want you to have this… while you're alive." He mumbled, then pulled a what seemed to be a folded photograph out of his pocket to hand it to his destroyed son. Glaring at Bronev, Descole took the piece of paper with his weak hands shaking violently, then nearly started unfolding it, until the other man stopped him by patting his shoulder, making Descole wince.

"Wait a minute until I leave. I don't want to see your reaction." Muttering this, Bronev stood up and slowly walked towards the door leading outside the room,

"… I will never forgive you, Bronev. Just like I will never forgive myself." The other man spat, his voice still weak, but full of spite and venom. He didn't receive a reply, only the sound of the door closing with a loud screech, followed by a slam just as loud.

 

* * *

 

How long had it been? The clock – whose ticking annoyed the man to no end – was telling that it's been only an hour… But it felt like he had been staring at this old, folded piece of paper forever, too afraid to open it. Instead, he inspected it without unfolding, and found a date – around twenty five years ago. Looking at the texture of the paper, it certainly was a photograph, but of what…?

But the man's mind was occupied with many other questions that made him stare at a wall instead of looking closely at the paper. He sat up in the bed again, energy slowly returning into his body, and looked outside the window… It was raining heavily, assuming by the sound, and it was so, so dark… He had never seen such darkness; were there no street lights at all? But what disturbed him the most was… his own reflection.

Staring at it, the man reached out and tried to touch the face of the man he was seeing in the window. Was this 'Desmond Sycamore'? Because 'Jean Descole' would never look so miserable, so pathetic. 'Hershel Bronev' was gone decades ago. Yes, everyone here knew his appearance without the mask as Desmond, but just who _was_ he? If the names were gone, if the disguise was gone… Nobody. He recalled staring at his own reflection in the surface of the river and winced, the memories of nearly drowning himself returning again… He didn't want to die, but he also did. He just wanted everything to be over.

Frowning, the man sat back down on his hospital bed, the sound of both the clock ticking and the gentle drumming of the rain echoing in his seemingly empty, numb mind. He felt like he was already dead, and this was the purgatory – his personal purgatory, or even hell, who knew? Squinting his eyes, he let go of all his thoughts before returning his attention to the piece of paper Bronev gave him. Slowly and carefully unfolding it, he saw… Faces. Familiar, happy faces that seemed to be almost warmly glowing, despite how much the photograph faded. First thing he noticed was the face of his mother… Rachel Bronev. Even when separated, she was kind enough to lend her nearly corrupted son a hand by giving him all her heritage, and he had wasted all of it… Next, her husband, Leon. A hardworking archaeologist, such an inspiring figure for his older son, who turned into his greatest enemy. "Tragically pathetic," the man snarked to himself as he stared at his father's face. Below the happy parents, their happy children stood… The man couldn't look at their faces without wincing – who was that little boy standing next to his brother?

"This is… _This is not me anymore_ …!" He almost sobbed out before throwing the photograph to the other side of the room.

"… Desmond?"

Someone suddenly called, making the man shudder and quickly wiped his tears, putting his 'Desmond' mask on, then turn around to see the tall, slender figure of his saviour – Vincent – who quickly picked up the photograph he just threw away. As Vincent attempted to give it back, both men froze, staring at each other, a heavy, dark silence between them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello dear readers! i'm finally back to writing after months of hiatus due to mental health reasons. thanks for sticking with me to those who still do. before moving on to other stuff, i decided to finish this self-indulgent fic… this is my very first multichapter fic! certainly not be the best i can do, but you have to start somewhere… it's better than having no finished projects
> 
> thanks to everyone who's supporting me, especially PuzzleBot – my awesome beta reader (check out their writing it's amazing)! enjoy the final chapter, if this fic is your thing. warnings for suicidal/intrusive thoughts, identity crisis and such…

Desmond silently looked at Vincent, who had that _cursed_ photograph in his hand, and the next thing he noticed was… The man was wearing a hospital gown similar to the one Desmond himself was wearing. He had suffered damage as well, and probably came to his senses only now… How long had it been anyway?

"… You think that was a good idea?" Desmond muttered, snatching the photo away and clutching it near his chest, "Saving my life… Do you feel like a better person now, Doctor?"

Looking away, Vincent sighed. He understood Desmond, realising that he would probably feel the same if someone saved him from committing suicide. Unable to come up with anything to say, Vincent placidly sat down on the chair near Desmond's bed.

A 'Doctor'… Is that really how Desmond saw Vincent? Just some sketchy scientist whose research could only be ridiculed; leave alone helped with, nor spread around the world. Not an important person in Desmond's life – he couldn't possibly ever deserve that place. Even if he risked his life for him a thousand of times, it would only make Desmond hate him more with each one…

"Vincent."

Desmond's sharp voice stopped Vincent's train of thought in its tracks; his terrified face and his shaking hands made that more evident.

"… Listen to me for a moment, please," The other man asked, sighing with almost annoyance – or so it was warped by Vincent's mind, "Do you… Realise whose life you saved?"

And like that, the panic sadder tones ringing in his voice. Vincent quickly perked up, sighing shakily to calm himself down, ready to help the other again… Even if it wouldn't be received well.

"Of course I do," Vincent mumbled, feeling a tad pressured by Desmond, "I saved… _Your life._ The life of a good scientist, and a good man-"

"You still don't understand, then." Desmond cut him off harshly, "The person whose life you saved… Is a disgusting two-faced criminal. A pathetic manipulator."

Vincent could feel Desmond beating himself up with these words, but he couldn't see their meaning. All he saw was self-loathing, which he considered so, so wrong – Desmond must hate himself so badly for some reason, his mind painted him as an actual criminal… Vincent just couldn't see the man committing any kind of felony. His hands were so soft, his smile so welcoming… No way any of this was fake.

"My name isn't even Desmond Sycamore…" The man sighed, looking at the photograph with bitterness on his face, "Well, it is, legally, but… It's just a _costume_ … The Desmond you know… Is a lie. My life is entirely built on _lies_!"

As Desmond sank, slumping all over the bed, he covered his face with his hands: nobody should see that face. Vincent made haste to sit down on the edge of the same bed and offer the other man his right hand… Which is when Desmond noticed – his left hand was missing.

"… Vincent…"

Guilt and self-loathing swarmed Desmond's mind even more, making him curl up on the bed as he let out quiet sounds akin to repressed sobs - ones that had been waiting to exit his chest for too long. Vincent had lost his mechanical hand – the only piece technology that could help him – all because of Desmond's recklessness, his inconsideration, selfishness… A loud, harsh sob escaped his mouth before he could hold it in, tears streaming down his face, as if a dam in his soul had finally broken under all the pressure. Vincent… Vincent, it was all because of Vincent…

"… _Why_ … Did you save my life?!" Desmond sobbed out before hiding his face in a pillow,

Vincent had no answer.

No answer, aside from almost scaldingly hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He had seen this coming… Back when they met at the auditorium. The sadness in Desmond's eyes was heavy, heavier than the man could bear, and it was showing… Vincent obviously blamed himself for making Desmond suffer – he knew how painful it is to finally decide to die and end up alive.

"… I'm… So sorry… Desmond, I'm sorry…" Vincent mumbled with his voice shaking. 

He felt like he was drowning in his own tears, in Desmond's tears, in this strong, deep sorrow they both shared.

No answer followed, save for Desmond taking Vincent's hand that still was extended. He was craving that comfort – he could admit it to himself now – and he wasn't alone. Pulling Vincent closer into a chaste hug, he hid his face in the man's shoulder and kept sobbing, even though his voice was already hoarse and tired.

* * *

The desperate, pained sobs, the words full of self-loathing and resentment of the entire world, the way Desmond clung to Vincent, crying, no end to these tears… The realisation made Leon shudder. He came to visit his ‘son’ once again, but ended up just standing in the middle of the scene, hearing how much his own son hates being alive… All because of him.

Sitting down outside the room in the hallway, Leon could still hear Desmond’s agonized cries. He could hear them getting less pained with every second as well, but he knew that if he appeared now… Like Desmond said, Leon’s presence is torturous to him, and that was perfectly understandable. There was someone else by his side now – probably the guy that had saved him. Desmond wasn’t Leon’s son anymore… He would never be forgiven. Accepting that, the man stood up with a grunt and walked away slowly.

Something still made him turn around several times and look longingly at the doorway to Desmond’s room… Before he left for good, admitting his defeat.

* * *

How long had he been crying? It didn’t matter that much, but Desmond ended up with a headache so excruciating that he had to be tranquilized to sleep by the nurse. Vincent was allowed to stay in the room and take care of him, since he was almost fully recovered already. It clearly didn’t affect him as much as the other man.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do anything with your hand prosthesis,” the nurse sighed as she filled in the papers, “Please, consult our head doctor about it later.”

“It’s fine… If that’s what it takes to keep Desmond alive…” Vincent admitted quietly, then looked up at the nurse, “Will he be okay?” he timidly asked the nurse, holding Desmond’s hand and rubbing it.

“Don’t worry Mister, Hable,” the nurse quickly replied from the doorway, about to leave the room, “He’ll wake up and feel all better. The headache should be gone. Please call me or another nurse if he breaks down again.”

Even though nodding, Vincent couldn’t quite agree with their way of dealing with the man… He did need rest to fully recover from nearly drowning, but he also needed to deal with his insecurities, his problems… ‘A life built on lies’, ‘a costume’… Vincent could only wonder what Desmond meant by that. But something told him that everything would reveal itself in time, and very soon, and he wasn’t going to rush it. But one thing Vincent was convinced with – he did save a life that would be important to him in the future. No matter the past mistakes – Desmond was repentant, he wanted to forgive himself and move on, but they seemed to weighty for him to bear with. Vincent, however, was ready to acknowledge them and accept Desmond, having made some dire mistakes himself…

Vincent held his hand, glancing at his peaceful, but still sad face. Witnessing these tears was hard, but it was evidently harder for the other man to cry them, so Vincent pledged to him…

“I’ll stay with you, Desmond…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. there's a drabble coming soon, most likely! thank you for reading and have a great day!


End file.
